Down
by Padawan Aneiki R'hyvar
Summary: The follies of youth, claustrophobia, a concussion and a long way down. Not necessarily in that order.
1. Part The First

Part the First

"Ow!" The aggrieved cry that echoed in close quarters was followed by a muttered imprecation, followed by a _not_ -so muttered imprecation and then, "Will you just _hold still_ a moment, chosski-head so I can figure out how to get us out of here?" The scuffling and the muttering stopped for a moment, followed by a soft cough and then a groan, which turned pressing irritation into something more compassionate. "I don't think it's broken. You can quit making noises like an akk in heat."

Obi-Wan Kenobi, junior Padawan to Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and current subject of verbal abuse, did his level best to make the dirty look he leveled at Garen Muln visible even in their dusky and—hopefully—temporary confinement. "I do _not_ sound like an akk, in heat or otherwise," he declared. At least, that's how he _meant_ to say it. The dubiety he sensed from his friend since their crèche days seemed to indicate something less than absolute clarity.

"I think you have a concussion, though; that sounded like a bad imitation of a Twi'lek with a mouthful of muja fruit. Just stay awake and keep still a minute." Garen Muln shifted very carefully, glancing up at the disc of blue and white hovering above them, mockingly, and he snorted at their ridiculous situation.

Which, of course, turned into a sneeze, which morphed into cough due to all the dust hanging in the air from their unfortunate… _incident_ , and this then turned into another groan from Obi-Wan as the sound reverberated off stone, aggravating the absolutely demanding headache. Pain warped the Force around them. " _Okay_ ," Muln relented when he could speak again, "You _don't_ sound like an akk."

"Master Rhara and Master Qui-Gon told us to _wait_ for them," Obi-Wan groused vehemently. To Garen, it came out sounding more like ' _Mas' Ara an'…Mas' er Qui tol' us way for 'em_." After a quick blink and a thought, Garen deciphered it and exhaled softly.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be the meditation closet for me and probably a month in the Healers' for you; about normal," Garen admitted. "Although that _was_ a pretty good match; I think if we hadn't ended up down here, you mighta—hey! No sleeping on the job, Kenobi." He reached over to pinch his companion's earlobe; at the injured padawan's indignant grunt, he shrugged. "Bant said it was a good way to keep somebody conscious as long as possible," he confessed. "After we get outta here, take it up with _her_."

Obi-Wan grumbled something or other that was too quiet and too slurred to be easily understood, so Garen let it slide and contemplated their predicament. "Well…I could try to climb the thing, I suppose," he said aloud, even as he surveyed the rough stone walls of the crudely dug well they'd managed to fall into. He nearly snorted again at the thought of having to explain themselves to their respective masters, until he considered the recent consequences of _dirt_.

Plenty of that had fallen in with them, too. Garen wasn't nearly as fastidious as his best friend, but at the same time, he knew he likely looked even _less_ a model padawan than he usually did. "Boy, we'll have some tale to tell Master Troon's little monsters next time we have crèche duty, huh, Obi?" He _very carefully_ shifted once more, and this time he grinned. "I think I see my 'saber…I can almost reach it…"

They'd landed, of course, in a complicated tangle of limbs and tunics, boots and a hefty shower of dirt as the abandoned well covering gave way beneath their combined weight during a rather spirited sparring—

" _Chossssi,_ " Obi-Wan slurred heavily, but his annoyance was clearly felt in the Force.

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you decided to do that…inverted, whatever-the-Force-that-was that put you behind me. Who taught you that one anyway; I've never seen you use it before. Master Qui-Gon?" Getting his companion to talk when he didn't want to could be a challenge on a good day, and this didn't exactly fit the lexical description of _good_. Still, Garen was determined to keep Obi-Wan conscious, and if that meant being a Sith-spawned _pest_ , then so be it.

Garen _stretched_ , just barely getting his fingers around a lightsaber hilt. " _Yes!_ " he exclaimed as he worked his prize free from the small crevice it had tumbled into. Relieved, he thumbed the familiar switch, throwing the claustrophobic walls into shades of black and azure as the plasma blade shot upward.

Obi-Wan looked bad, and Garen winced. In the garish light of a 'saber at close range, he could make out a sluggishly bleeding cut just below Obi-Wan's hairline, where the injured padawan had made rather solid contact with one of the hard stones making up the well's interior. " _Kriff_ ," he murmured aloud, which gained him a slight disapproving sound from the patient in question. "Look," Garen reasoned, "Master Rhara's already gonna make me meditate 'til I'm fifty anyway, I don't think a single cuss word's gonna make it any worse."

" _Wha' 'bout…your han'?_ " Obi-Wan wanted to know. Garen shrugged even as he gingerly lifted his free hand, which likely _was_ broken and hurt like the blazes.

"Somebody's gotta save your skin, Obi. I think I have more to be afraid of from _Bant_ for getting you hurt. Master Rhara's gonna have my hide, sure, but Bant's gonna _kill_ me."

This time Obi-Wan snorted. Which turned into sneezing and coughing, groaning and cursing for both of them.


	2. Part The Second

Part The Second

Jedi Master Clee Rhara sipped delicately at the sweet-water provided for her, taking in the room with a subtle, sweeping glance without missing a word of the tiresome speech in progress. Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, seated at her left, also paid close attention to their milieu; his Force-aura almost palpable and protective. Unlike Clee, however, the rogue was paying little attention to the rambling address of Kesen IV's newly-appointed Senator to the Galactic Republic.

The Jedi had been dispatched, along with their respective padawans, to attend the traditional confirmation rites establishing every Keseni leader, from the days of tribal law until this very day, as modern members of the Republic. They were then to escort the new Senator, Ivo Sk'an, to Coruscant as nebulous threats from Keseni dissidents had been made against him. With the threats' weak credibility, the Council had deemed it a good mission for the junior padawans to undertake, pursuant to their training, with their esteemed mentors.

Therefore, the here and now: two Jedi whose masterly control rendered them outwardly impervious to boredom, to hunger from skipped meals, to the miasma of cloying incense employed in the investiture ceremony, and to the burgeoning heat of the day as the environmentals struggled to compensate for overcrowding. The Force, in all, was fount and ally of their composure, rendering them the model of Jedi serenity, even as Qui-Gon leaned toward Clee ever so slightly, words barely breathed between them. " _And we thought Bhel-Nar Shazae was…tedious_."

The Force sparked in mild amusement, a rare thing for the ever-serious Clee Rhara, even as she sipped more sweet water and then replied just as furtively behind her glass, " _Shazae at least made a_ point _in her speeches. Eventually. I think we took a wrong turn or three in_ this _maze_."

Their lips barely moved, the sounds far too soft for any recording device to pick up, and all that registered on the security holocams was a slight rustle of movement, a glass being returned to its place, and the tall male Jedi shifting infinitesimally on the unforgiving wooden benches of the traditional Hall of Rule. It was only the faintest of ripples in their collective calm.

So far, the only truly unexpected occurrence during the five-day ceremonials had been the declaration of Kesen IV's directorate that the padawans were not of age to attend the final, day-long confirmation rites by traditional rule. Indeed, Clee's own attendance was singularly owed to her status as a Jedi _Master_ and de facto bodyguard as she was the only female present. As befitting an accomplished diplomat, she had averted her gaze at appropriate moments, conducted herself with the utmost decorum expected of both a Jedi and a high-born Keseni noblewoman, kept her responses sedate and concise, and remained wrapped in her Jedi cloak, cowl up, in public places.

She stopped short of addressing Qui-Gon Jinn as _tewan_ , loosely translated as 'ruler' in Basic Standard. Even as a Jedi born to serve, she had her limits.

The instruction left with their apprentices was to remain, within reason, in the general vicinity of their assigned apartments. The new-minted Senator possessed a fairly modest estate as far as such things go, affording some room for the boredom of youth to find release, again, within reason. Garen and Obi-Wan had been directed to maintain a discreet presence, to complete assignments or meditation, and to refrain from making nuisances of themselves with Senator Sk'an's staff.

Jedi comportment and training aside, a tall order for a pair of human boys fourteen Standard old, left to their own devices.

The speech came to an abrupt halt, Ivo Sk'an's voice ringing from the ceiling briefly before someone in the crowd of onlookers began to applaud, and the entire room slowly came to their feet in congratulatory adulation. Clee attentively swept her gaze across the assemblage again, sensing Qui-Gon doing much the same as they moved to flank the Senator. Guests began to file out of the Hall of Rule, heading for the concurrent celebratory reception from which the padawans were also exempted for the other, more practical concerns of shepherding youth regarding excess and propriety.

A restive, playful antagonism sparked along the Force-borne bond between Master and Padawan; Clee resisted the urge to roll her eyes and draw unwanted attention to herself. Gracefully she canted her head in Qui-Gon's direction. "I fear our apprentices are… _entertaining_ themselves," she remarked.

The tiniest upturn at the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth was all the outward sign Clee received for a pair of beats before his mischievous reply.

"Then the penalty for such malfeasance must be just as entertaining, no?"

Her soft chuckle, slightly muted by the cowl raised in male Keseni company, conveyed her amused agreement.

The light moment was dismissed in a flash as a prickle of unease spread through her awareness, and she swept her gaze over the crowds again, already conscious of Qui-Gon's increased focus. The Force gathered around the pair of Jedi, again prompting them to greater attention. _Danger_.

A spark of somewhat unbecoming _worry_ filtered between the two Masters, and Clee frowned. She reached into the Force, directing the lightest of brushes against her Padawan's mind.

"'Saberplay," she murmured quietly. "I don't sense anything inherently wrong with either of…"

"No," Qui-Gon agreed, even as he sidled a little closer to Ivo Sk'an. "It's something _here_."

Clee took a graceful step closer to the Senator as well, on his right, the Keseni ritual _woman's place_ as opposed to the _place of honor_ , on his left where Qui-Gon now stood. Nothing stood out to her, as yet, although the Force's strident alarm continued to sound in her mind. _Danger. Danger!_ It was that warning, more than anything, that caused her to at last break with Keseni decorum, discarding her cloak in a swift motion born of long practice.

Her hand came to rest on the hilt of her 'saber, amid a chorus of loud, protesting male voices. The Force's warning screamed into a crescendo as a sharp, ragged sense of pain flooded the bond from Garen before it was choked off. A scant glance at Qui-Gon revealed he too had sensed the moment from his padawan. Despite a shared concern, they could not afford to be distracted.

"Down!" Qui-Gon commanded Sk'an seconds before someone fired a blaster that had made it past security.

The Hall of Rule devolved into chaos as everything went to the nine hells.


End file.
